


Baby, It's Cold Outside

by ElizColl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Hermione Granger, Banter, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, One Shot, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Snow, Snowed In, Song: Baby It's Cold Outside, The Slytherin Cabal's Twistmas 2020, White Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizColl/pseuds/ElizColl
Summary: A fluffy Dramione Christmas one-shot based off the song Baby, It's Cold Outside. Hermione and Draco are Aurors, and both happen to be working late on December 24th. What happens when they're the last two left at the Ministry on a snowy Christmas Eve?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42
Collections: Twistmas 2020 - A Dark Remix Xmas Fest





	Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Twistmas2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Twistmas2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> White Christmas
> 
> I came up with this fluffy one-shot while dancing around to Christmas music in my living room. I have two twists on the White Christmas prompt: the story uses many of the lyrics from the song Baby, It's Cold Outside (see how many you can find in the second half of scene 2!), and White Christmases don't always bring what we expect. 
> 
> Of the dozens of versions of Baby, It's Cold Outside that graced my speakers while I wrote this, my favs are by Idina Menzel/ Michael Buble and the modern update by John Legend/ Kelly Clarkson. Share your favorite versions in the comments! 
> 
> A huge thank you to my incredible alphabet canttouchthis and meditationsinemergencies for their help. Happy reading and singing!

It was Christmas Eve, and Deputy Auror Granger was finishing up the paperwork for a recently closed case before joining her parents for their annual Christmas Eve dinner. Ministry employees had been officially dismissed at noon for the Christmas holiday, but Hermione wanted to finish her casework before leaving so it wasn’t hanging over her head during the holiday.

The weather forecast was calling for a white Christmas in London this year, with snow starting this evening, and getting heavier as the night progressed. By Christmas morning, over a foot of snow was expected, which would likely shut down the city. London rarely had snowfalls of more than several inches at a time, and the entire city was on alert, in a state of excited and nervous anticipation.

Hermione had packed a change of clothes and some toiletries in her beaded bag, in case the snow came early and she got stuck at her parents’ house. She almost hoped it would happen; it had been years since she’d woken up on Christmas morning in her childhood bedroom. 

The enchanted window in her office had been showing a light snowfall for the past week, and she was ready to see the real thing tomorrow morning. She just needed to focus long enough to finish the last page of her case report, which was proving harder to do than she had expected; the enchanted singing mistletoe in the Auror office was rivaling the best department stores in their continual repetition of popular Christmas songs. As much as she loved “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”, hearing it for the twentieth time today was starting to grate her nerves. 

By 4 pm, she had finally finished her report and filed it for Harry’s stamp of approval. She gathered her things and hurried through the department, excited to see her parents and help with dinner preparations. She flicked off the lights as she left, and right before closing the door, she heard an irritable cry. “Turn the lights back on, Granger. I’m trying to work here.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Of all people, _of course_ , Malfoy would still be here at 4 pm on Christmas Eve. Like her, he was a deputy Auror. Hermione never questioned Harry out loud, but she continually wondered why he’d appointed Malfoy as one of his deputies. She knew Malfoy’s case closing rate was the highest in the department--even higher than hers, as much as she hated to admit it. But he was a loner; he could never keep a partner, and none of the junior Aurors wanted to work with him because he drove them so hard. 

Harry had once tried to partner Hermione with Malfoy. He was convinced it would work if they could put aside their mutual antipathy and use their competitive personalities for the good of the department. It had been a disaster from the beginning. Ron had been jealous that she was partnered with Malfoy, accusing her of bringing him up in every conversation and spending too many nights working late with him during the month they worked together, and Malfoy had been insufferable, insulting Ron, or insulting Hermione for dating Ron, at every turn. 

Eventually, Hermione had had enough and had asked Harry for a new partner. Malfoy didn’t speak to her for nearly a month after the reassignments, and Harry told her later that Malfoy had vehemently protested the split. Hermione had been surprised, but she knew Malfoy respected her intellect, even if he hated everything else about her. That had been a little over two years ago, around Halloween, and she and Malfoy had coexisted professionally, but distantly, ever since. 

Hermione flicked the department lights back on and, despite her never-ending irritation with _his Pure-blood majesty_ , she couldn’t simply leave him to spend the rest of his Christmas Eve working alone. She made her way to his office and leaned against the door frame. 

“I didn’t realize you were still here, Malfoy. Wrapping up some paperwork?”

He looked up from his files with a distinctly peeved expression. “Yes, Granger. We just put three illegal potions dealers in Azkaban, and I’m finalizing the evidence for their long-term sentencing. I didn’t realize you were still here either. Did your swotty little know-it-all brain need to finish a report on school supply price-fixing before you could go spend your Christmas Eve with the Weasel and his mangy clan?” he sneered.

Hermione had been on the receiving end of Malfoy’s ire ever since they ended their partner trial, and usually, she didn’t let it get to her. But today, at 4 pm on Christmas Eve, when she was looking forward to a lovely evening with her parents and had even _turned the lights back on for this arsehole_ , she didn’t feel like putting up with his shite. 

She stomped over to his desk and leaned over it, crowding into his personal space. “Yes, Malfoy,” she ground out. “My swotty little know-it-all brain _did_ need to finish a report. However, it had nothing to do with school supplies or price fixing. If you must know, I was wrapping up a case on Azkaban prison guards who were mistreating prisoners.” She glared at him. “Prisoners who _included_ your father.” The nerve of him! To act like she did nothing useful! She’d been busting her arse to convict guards whose crimes were positively benign compared to those of Lucius Malfoy. 

Malfoy’s face paled, though he attempted to maintain a composed demeanor in front of her. His voice came out clipped. “My apologies, Granger.” He bent back toward his desk, a clear dismissal. She began to walk away when his soft voice halted her steps. 

“Thank you,” she heard.

She turned around, halfway to the exit, and took in his slumped posture and his fringe hanging in his eyes. She hesitated, unsure whether an olive branch would be accepted or rebuffed. Deciding she would be the bigger person either way, she walked purposefully back to his desk.

With as much goodwill as she could muster, she asked, “Can I help you finish your paperwork so you can get home at a reasonable hour?”

His eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. For a brief moment, he gaped at her in a level of discomposure she rarely saw on his aristocratic person. But as soon as the thought registered in her brain, he had closed his mouth and his face had returned to its typical aloof expression, making her wonder if she’d simply imagined his flustered response. 

He closed his folder and, in an uncharacteristic display of politeness, replied, “Thank you for your offer of help, Granger. However, I can take the report home with me and finish it there. Everyone else is probably gone by now, and we might as well leave too. May I escort you down to the Atrium?”

Her instinct was to rebuff him and say no, but she realized that was petty and uncalled for. And after all, it was Christmas Eve--a time for charitable acts, goodwill toward men, and all that… 

She held his gaze, which often caused a slight roiling in her stomach, and replied, “I’m sure I can make it down to the Atrium on my own, but I’d be… accepting… of your company, if you’re heading down now, too.” She couldn’t _quite_ bring herself to say “pleased.” He was a blonde Adonis, but he was also an arsehole.

He responded with a guarded smile, which somehow made her stomach roil even more, and rose from his desk, packing his files away in his top drawer and shrinking his unfinished report to pocket away in his robes.

They walked together in awkward silence to the lifts, their robes occasionally brushing as they rounded a corner. Hermione felt his eyes on her as she entered the lift ahead of him; she fought the urge to adjust her robes and smooth her hair under his scrutiny. 

When they reached the floos, with nary a word exchanged between them, they each stepped toward a grate and grabbed a handful of floo powder. Impetuously, Hermione turned to him with a tentative smile and said, sincerely, “Thank you for walking me down. Happy Christmas, Malfoy.” 

He nodded at her, expression guarded as usual, and remarked, “Happy Christmas, Granger.”

Hermione threw in the floo powder, calling out “Granger Household”--she’d connected her parents to the floo network several years ago--and stepped into the fireplace. 

Nothing happened. No green flames. No nauseating swirl of travel through the floo network. Nothing.

She stepped out to try again, and she saw Malfoy standing two grates away, scratching his head and looking befuddled. He shifted over to try the adjacent fireplace.

“Mine doesn’t seem to be working, either,” she said. He looked over in surprise, brows furrowing. Between the two of them, they tried every fireplace and called out different destinations, hoping they might find at least one working connection. Every grate remained still and dark. 

“It seems the floo network must be down,” Hermione muttered.

Malfoy raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her. “Excellent deduction skills, Granger. No wonder Potter made you deputy Auror.”

Hermione, accustomed to his sarcasm, ignored him. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to use the Visitor's Entrance,” she sighed. She hated the Visitor's Entrance. The phone booth lift was cramped and smelly, and it let them out in a bad part of town. She also didn’t relish standing out in the cold waiting until no Muggles were present before they could apparate. 

“I’m not using the Visitor's Entrance if the floo network may be restored at any moment.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought.

“Why?” Hermione bit out. “Can you not deign to use something so pedestrian?” Mimicking his posh accent, she drawled, “I’m not setting foot inside that cramped smelly phone booth, _Granger_ . It _reeks_ of commoners, and it might tarnish my spotless shoes and robes.” She peered down her nose at him, imitating his usual condescending expression.

He glared at her. “Fine.” He made his way across the Atrium, his broad shoulders filling out his Auror robes in the picture of perfect posture.

Hermione followed after him, catching up as he pressed the button to bring the phone cubicle/lift down from street level. 

“I’m sorry,” a mechanical witch’s voice said from the lift shaft. “The Visitor’s Entrance is out of order.” 

Draco glanced at Hermione, a hint of worry beginning to form on his otherwise composed face. He pressed the button again, and the mechanical voice repeated her words.

“Here, let me try.” Hermione moved in front of him to push the button herself. 

“So you think the lift will respond differently to you than to me?” Malfoy scowled. “You know, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”

He was right of course--well, not about her being insane: the mechanical voice repeated its message once again.

Letting out a huff of frustration, Hermione fished in her beaded purse for her phone. She needed to call Harry and find out what was going on, and let her parents know if she was going to be late. She touched his name in her contacts list and waited for the phone to dial. It sat silent for several seconds, then flashed _“Call failed”_ across the screen. Sighing, she tried again, with the same result. She huffed, and tried Ginny’s cell instead; hopefully, she could reach Harry that way. _“Call failed,”_ flashed again. 

“Damn cell signals,” she burst out. “It’s impossible to get a call out of this underground cave sometimes. Why the Ministry has to be buried in the bowels of London instead of some nice, bright airy building, I’ll never know.” 

“Problem there, Granger?” Malfoy inserted himself into her ramblings. “Muggle technology not working?”

Hermione glared at him and hurried across to the other side of the Atrium, hoping she might be able to pick up a better cell signal from there. Again, _“Call failed,”_ no matter whose number she tried. She pinched the bridge of her nose and strode back to Malfoy. 

He gave her a half-smirk, not even needing to speak for her to know his thoughts. He may have renounced his Pure-blood ideology, but he made no attempts to hide his disdain for Muggle technology. “How about a Patronus, Granger?” he drawled.

“By all means, go ahead,” she gestured with a scowl.

He conjured his dragon patronus, shimmering in the dim light of the Atrium. “Go to Antelius Diggle and let him know that Hermione Granger and I are stuck in the Ministry Atrium. The floo network seems to be down, and the lift at the Visitor’s Entrance isn’t working either. Does he have any idea how quickly the floo connection will be fixed?” The dragon soared up and through the Atrium ceiling to deliver its message.

Hermione furrowed her brows at Malfoy. “You sent a patronus to Diggle?”

“Yes, Granger,” he clipped out. “He’s the head of the Department of Magical Transportation; if he’s any good at his job, he’ll have an estimate on when the floo connections will be restored. Potter may not even know there’s a problem.”

Hermione nodded. He was right, though there was no reason for her to acknowledge it out loud; it would only further inflate his already overblown ego. They stood there, waiting for Diggle’s response. Hermione shifted impatiently from foot to foot, looking anywhere but at Malfoy, and trying not to notice the woodsy scent of pine and cedar emanating from his person. He stood still, perfectly poised as he leaned against the wall, looking for all the world like a magazine model with his flawlessly coiffed hair and impeccably tailored robes cut to fit his physique _just so_ , seemingly unbothered by this minor delay in his Christmas Eve plans. 

She found herself wondering what his Christmas Eve plans were. Was he going to the Manor, to celebrate with his mother? Or to the Greengrasses’ with Astoria? She frowned at the thought of Astoria. Beautiful, polite, cultured, but a bit empty and cold. 

Whenever Hermione saw Malfoy and Astoria out together, the two of them seemed to be walking through motions, or acting rehearsed parts in a play; they lacked the casual intimacy Hermione associated with a loving relationship. 

She had always thought maybe that was just how Pure-bloods acted in public. Maybe they had a fiery and passionate sex life behind the scenes. Maybe their sangfroid disappeared in the bedroom, and Malfoy whispered sweet nothings in her ear while his hands trailed along her body and…

“What’s going through that giant brain of yours, Granger?” Malfoy’s voice intruded on her thoughts, and she jumped, flustered. Her eyes darted up to his; she saw a hint of laughter sparkling in them, and a flush crept up her neck. He hadn’t been using legilimency on her, had he? No, he couldn’t have; she would have felt it.

“Um,” she floundered, “I was just thinking about… how to get in touch with my parents if I’m going to be late to their house for dinner.” She held her phone up, as if to confirm her thoughts. “You know, since it doesn’t seem to be working down here.”

“I see.” The same hint of laughter still sparkled in his silvery eyes as they gazed down at her from under his long, lush lashes. Hermione’s pulse quickened, and she cast about for something else to say to dispel the awkwardness.

“And you? What are your plans this evening? Will you be spending it with Astoria?”

Malfoy rubbed his neck and dropped his gaze to the side. “Ah… Astoria and I split up recently.” He glanced back at Hermione. “I’m visiting my mother for dinner, then going out for drinks with Blaise and Theo after. If we ever get out of here,” he muttered.

Hermione fidgeted with her phone and her beaded bag. Best be polite. “I didn’t know you split up. I’m… sorry to hear that.”

Malfoy’s face hardened. “I don’t need your sympathy, Granger. And I’m not. Sorry, that is. We weren’t a good fit. You should know how that feels, after wasting years of your life with the Weasel King.” He turned away, staring at the floos.

Hermione wouldn’t call it a waste. Ron just wasn’t the right person for her, and they had broken up a year ago. Instead of coming back at Malfoy with a scathing remark like he expected her to, she asked, “Is that how you feel, like the last two years with Astoria have been a waste?”

“Keeping tabs on the length of my relationships, Granger? Who knew you paid such close attention to my personal life?” he sneered at her.

And this was how it always went. Ever since their failed partnering effort, he rebuffed most of her attempts at more civil personal discourse, keeping her at arm’s length and taking nearly everything she said either as a personal affront or an excuse to insult her. She was about to respond to his rude comment when Diggle’s patronus soared into the Atrium, and her words died on her lips. 

The pelican stopped in front of them and issued its message. “The snow came early and deep. The freezing temperatures and insulating properties of so much snow have knocked out the floo network all over southern England. We don’t anticipate being able to restore it until tomorrow, once the storm has ended. 

“Since you can’t apparate from the Ministry, I’ll work on getting the Visitor’s Entrance fixed for you. It may take several hours to get someone there and get the lift fixed though, given it’s Christmas Eve. I’ll send another patronus when I reach someone and know the timing.” The pelican faded away, leaving Hermione and Malfoy staring at each other in irritation. 

Neither of them wanted to remain at the Ministry for several hours on Christmas Eve waiting for the Visitor’s Entrance to be fixed. She ran her hands through her hair, thinking of alternate ways out. Glancing at Draco, she asked, “Do you think the old toilet entrance still works?” She had no desire to use the toilets; once was enough when they had broken into the Ministry during seventh year. But if it was a working exit…

Draco’s thoughts were apparently similar; his pristine face scrunched up in disgust, fine wrinkles spreading across his patrician nose. But he nodded in agreement.

They strode down an adjoining hallway to a dilapidated set of abandoned openings in the wall, which connected to the old toilet entrance aboveground. They each stared at the openings, not moving, until Malfoy said, “This is ridiculous. We have a registered portkey to one of the Auror safehouses back in the department. Why don’t we take that, and we can both apparate to our destinations from there. You designed the anti-apparition wards at the safehouses, right? You can dismantle them?”

Hermione nodded and deliberated his suggestion. That did sound more appealing, but they were here, by the toilets, so they might as well try them. “I’ll try the toilets first, but if they don’t work, I’ll use the portkey with you.”

Draco’s eyes flicked to hers with an unreadable expression, and she stepped forward into one of the openings. It smelled musty after years of disuse. Holding her breath, she pulled on the chain hanging to her right and prepared to be sucked up the plumbing pipes. Nothing happened. She tried again, in vain. Sighing, she attempted each opening in turn. All failed.

Walking back to Malfoy, she groused, “Perhaps the pipes are frozen. Or maybe they blocked them off long ago.”

“Shall we?” Malfoy asked, gesturing back down the narrow hallway. They fell in place next to each other and made their way back through the Atrium and up to the Auror department. 

* * *

Hermione sent a patronus off to Diggle, telling him not to bother finding someone to fix the Visitor’s Entrance, while Malfoy summoned the portkey from the lockbox near Harry’s office. It was a Muggle pencil decorated with tiny cartoons of balloons and “Happy Birthday” text in rainbow colors. Hermione clutched her beaded bag as they both took hold of the pencil, and Malfoy tapped his wand to activate it.

Their fingers grazed briefly as it began to glow blue, and Hermione looked up to find his gray eyes boring into her. For a split second, her breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze; then she felt the jerk in her navel, and they spun through space to the safehouse. 

They landed with a loud thunk on the hardwood floor of a small cottage in rural England. She fought the urge to vomit--Merlin, she hated traveling by portkey--and walked over to a frosty window. Scrubbing at it with her sleeve, she cleared a small area of the glass and looked out into a snow-covered forest. 

There was at least a foot of snow on the ground outside, and the flakes came down thick and fast in the rapidly fading daylight, making it difficult to see beyond the closest ring of evergreen trees surrounding the house. Inside, their breaths came out in white clouds in the chilly air, and Hermione rubbed her arms to fight back the cold. 

“Right,” Malfoy said, pulling his robes tighter around him for warmth, accentuating the bulge of his upper arms through the shimmering fabric. “You’ll dismantle the anti-apparition wards?”

Hermione nodded and pulled out her wand. She transfigured a nearby throw pillow into a hat and cast a quick warming charm on herself before stepping out into the storm. She flicked her wand in an intricate series of movements while chanting the corresponding incantations to dismantle the wards. She waited for the flash of purple that indicated the wards had dissolved, but it never came. 

_Strange,_ she thought, _I know I said the correct string of incantations…_ Shrugging, she tried again; and again the purple didn’t flash. She knew her spellwork was correct, so she must have dismantled the wards, despite the lack of color change. Perhaps it was simply too cold or couldn’t be seen through the snowstorm. She stepped back into the cottage, large white snowflakes wet on her hat and gleaming brightly in the chestnut curls of her hair. 

Malfoy turned around from his perusal of the limited book selection on a small shelf. Somewhat perplexed, Hermione said, “I think the wards are dismantled, but they didn’t flash purple the way they usually do.”

“Are you sure you did the spellwork correctly?” he drawled.

“Of course I am,” she snapped. “I did it twice, just to make sure I didn’t inadvertently mess it up the first time.” She huffed for a moment, then said, “Regardless, I think they’re dismantled, and we should be able to apparate. Maybe I just couldn’t see the purple through the snowstorm. Seems kind of strange, but…” she shrugged in bemusement. “Shall we?”

“After you,” Malfoy gestured to the door. 

It was now fully nighttime, and they each cast a _lumos_ to light their way. They shuffled several paces through the deep snow to a small clearing they could apparate from, the hems of their robes now sodden. 

“Well, Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”

He inclined his head. “Happy Christmas, Granger.” 

They simultaneously turned on the spot to apparate, except, nothing happened. Hermione stumbled as her robes caught in the thick snow, and Malfoy reached out to catch her by the elbow, keeping her from face planting in the frigid powder. Her breath caught as he pulled her upright, suddenly much closer to her than before… so close that she could see small flecks of gold in the gray of his irises. An unbidden thought crossed her mind-- _so that’s why his eyes always sparkle so brilliantly_ \--before she could censor it.

The snow continued to fall, several flakes landing on his long black lashes, like a coating of fairy dust. She fought the urge to reach up and brush them off, keeping her hands firmly to herself, and she pulled her elbow out of Malfoy’s grip. She felt the loss of his warm touch instantly as she backed away from him, reestablishing their personal bubbles; a brief flash of… was that disappointment?... crossed his face as she withdrew. Surely she imagined it.

Malfoy looked around them. “If it were anyone besides you, Granger, I’d assume they must have done the spellwork wrong to dismantle the wards. But I know you can’t have messed it up if you tried it twice.” 

“Careful there, Malfoy,” she snarked. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“The key word, Granger, is ‘almost’,” he smirked. “Now… is it possible Potter changed the wards here at some point and didn’t let you know?” 

Hermione nodded. Yes, that was very possible. Harry wasn’t the best about remembering to communicate small details. And it wasn’t like they would have used the safehouse for victim protection without Harry knowing; he would have of course told them the new requirements at that point.

“Does your Muggle phone work out here? Can you call him and ask him what he did?” Draco inclined his head toward her beaded bag, then drawled, "This wouldn't be an issue in the first place if Potter would activate the safehouse portkeys for more than a single use."

Hermione fished her phone out. _“No service,”_ it read at the top. She looked up at Malfoy and shook her head. “We’re too far into the forest for the cell signal to reach here.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What use is Muggle technology when it doesn’t work half the time, Granger? And spare me the lecture, I’m not looking for an actual answer.” His eyes flashed in irritation. “Why don’t we go inside, and you can send Potter a patronus and ask him for the spellwork.”

They retreated back into the cottage, casting drying charms on their sodden clothing. Draco conjured a fire and illuminated several small lamps, while Hermione sent her otter floating away to Harry. 

They dragged a couple of chairs over to the fireplace to warm themselves and waited for Harry’s stag to return with some, hopefully, helpful answers. Silence descended between them once more. She chanced a glance at him out of the corner of her eye and watched his strong thigh move up and down as he tapped his polished dragonhide boot lightly on the floor, belying the agitation he covered up so well. His platinum hair glinted in the fire’s glow, as did the short blonde five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. Her fingers itched to find out whether his stubble was rough or soft, and she curled them into fists at the unwelcome notion.

Trying to divert her thoughts from his annoyingly beautiful form, she pulled a small bag of chocolates from her purse, offering them to Draco first. He raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. Did he really think she was such a heathen she wouldn’t share with him? She held back a huff of frustration and motioned for him to go ahead and take some. 

He plucked several out and took a bite, then wrinkled his nose. “What’s this, Granger? Dark chocolate?” 

“Yes.” She bit into her own, and let out a tiny sigh of pleasure, savoring its smooth, slightly bitter taste. 

Draco’s jaw tightened at her small moan, while he sat and contemplated the chocolate in his hand. 

“You don’t like it?” she asked. Leave it to Malfoy to dislike her chocolates. 

“I prefer milk chocolate.”

“Of course you do!” she laughed. “Everyone knows you have an insufferable sweet tooth, Malfoy!” she teased. 

“I suppose you’re right.” He eyed the bag in her hand. “Got any milk chocolates in there?”

Hermione smirked in a happy role reversal. “I’m sorry, Malfoy. Did the words ‘you’re right’ just come out of your mouth?”

He glared at her, but it lacked his usual antagonism. Then he broke into a light laugh, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners, making her heart hiccup for the briefest of moments. “I suppose they did, Granger. Better commit this to memory, since it will never happen again.”

His face transformed when he laughed--small dimples in his cheeks, and a lightness to his expression that made her long to see him that way more often. She nodded her head toward the sweets in his lap. “The ones covered in blue foil are what you’re looking for.”

He immediately opened a blue one, letting out a little moan of his own at the sweet, milky taste. Hermione thighs clinched together ever so slightly at the sound. Finishing the last of her chocolates, she licked her fingers clean, Draco’s eyes tracking her movements as her fingers slid in and out of her lips. The air thrummed with a tense energy, like the string on a violin stretched overly tight. 

The atmosphere shifted when Harry’s stag returned with bad news. He didn’t have the spellwork memorized; it was at the office, which he couldn’t get into since the floo network was down. The new wards were based on moon phases, some Welsh rune work, and a series of complex astrological charms. Harry thought she and Malfoy could probably figure out how to dismantle them if they worked together, but it would likely take them four to five hours to do it. Otherwise, they could wait until the floo network was back up, and Harry would get the instructions from the office and come get them tomorrow.

Draco leaned back in his chair, casually crossing an ankle over the opposite knee. “I have no desire to spend five hours in a snowstorm working to dismantle the wards. We’ll miss our evening plans by that point anyway.” His eyes flashed at her in the firelight. “Looks like we’re spending Christmas together this year, Granger,” he said almost cheerfully. He flicked his wand at the fake plant in the corner, transforming it into a fully decorated Christmas tree, complete with the fragrant scent of fir and balsam.

She frowned at him. “Malfoy, while your tree is quite festive, I have no intention of spending Christmas stuck here in the woods. I’d like to go work on the wards. I really can’t stay.”

He shook his head. “Granger, it’s cold outside.”

“I’ve got to go away. I’m not staying here all night!” She tapped her foot impatiently against the floor.

“Granger, it’s cold outside! I’m not spending my Christmas Eve working outside in a snowstorm.” 

She huffed, “My mother will start to worry.”

He merely rolled his eyes. “Granger, what’s your hurry? We wouldn’t finish with the wards till nearly midnight at this point; you’re going to miss your family dinner regardless. 

She let out a small screech of frustration. “My father will be pacing the floor!”

Malfoy scooted his chair closer to her and leaned forward into her space, pressing his hands down on his knees. His smirk was barely hidden as he tried to calm her down. “Just send another patronus to Potter and ask him to call your mum and dad for you. He’ll take care of it.” 

She shook her head in response. “I simply must go.”

“Granger, it’s cold outside,” he warned.

“The answer is no!” she snapped.

“But Granger, it’s cold outside!” he scoffed. “Look out the window at that storm!”

They stared at each other in a standoff, neither budging from their position. Finally, Malfoy said, “Suit yourself. I’m not helping you, though.”

Hermione began to protest, but Malfoy cut her off. With a mischievous grin, he called out “Accio whiskey! Accio cigar!” Surprisingly, both items flew out of cupboards and landed in his lap, and he beamed at his success. 

“I’ll put some records on while I pour!” Waving his wand at the tree, he enchanted the star on top to play Christmas carols. “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” belted out loudly into the room, and Malfoy flinched at the racket. “I’ll, uh, turn that down just a bit.”

She clenched her fists as he lowered the volume. Trying very hard not to yell at him, she snarled, “Malfoy, if I have to listen to that damn song one more time today, I will not be responsible if your lifeless body” - _no matter how beautiful it is -_ “ends up discovered by Aurors here tomorrow.”

He side-eyed her and, deciding she might not be joking, flicked his wand at the tree again. “Winter Wonderland” trilled out at an acceptable volume, and her fists slowly released, murderous instincts suppressed for the time being.

The blonde wizard conjured two glasses, filled them with whiskey, and floated one over to her with a small smile on his face. She watched the snifter drift toward her, speechless at Malfoy’s ability to take this in stride--as if being stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve was just a small cloud on an otherwise clear day and not a _raging snowstorm!_

The glass of whiskey hovered in front of her, waiting for her to take it. It became more impatient as the seconds passed, and when Malfoy tipped his glass toward her and said “Cheers!”, the glass started shaking violently, spilling some of its contents in her lap. She grabbed the glass, chugged it back, and set it on the table next to her with a frown.

“Slow down there, Granger! I don’t want my Christmas Eve date drunk before dinner,” he drawled, his lusciously full lips distracting her from his words. 

_Gosh, your lips look delicious!_ She briefly wondered what they would feel like pressed against her skin, making trails down her neck and shoulders, before narrowing her eyes at him. He was just mocking her by using the word “date,” purposefully reminding her how inadequate she was compared to the perfect, pretty, Pure-bloods like Astoria he usually dated. “Don’t mock me, Malfoy.”

He sat up straight, surprised at her ire, and held his hands up. “Calm down, Granger. I wasn’t mocking you. I know you hate me, but we’re stuck with each other for the night; we might as well make the best of it.” 

She frowned. “I don’t hate you, Malfoy,” she protested. 

“Oh, really?” he asked, with some bite in his voice. He took a deep breath and plastered on his smug smile again. 

She suddenly realized his smirks weren’t always a reflection of his disdain; sometimes they were a type of protective armor. She tilted her head, studying him with this new understanding. Hesitantly, she ventured, “Why do you think I hate you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because you asked for a new partner after only a month of working together and have avoided me as much as possible since then?” His voice sounded bitter.

“Malfoy, we argued ALL the time! And you constantly insulted Ron, and insulted me for dating Ron! You can’t tell me that wasn’t a miserable month for you, too!”

“Of course I insulted your boyfriend. He’s a git!”

She scowled at him. “How would _you_ know? You don’t even know him anymore!”

“I don’t have to know him! I saw the way he treated you. He took you completely for granted.”

“What?! That’s not true, Malfoy!”

He leaned closer to her, and his eyes conveyed… anger? Or maybe jealousy? No, it was more like… protectiveness? She gulped. 

“It _is_ true, Granger. And I figured maybe if I pointed it out enough, it might sink in, _somewhere_ in that giant brain of yours, that the man you were dating didn’t merit your affection, that he was an arse who basically treated you like an afterthought.”

She flapped her arms in the air and cried out, “So what’s it to you if he did? I can’t believe your presumption! It isn’t up to you to police who I date! Why do you even care?”

“ _Because_ , Granger, no woman deserves to be treated like that, and…” - his deep baritone was smooth and rich, like the jazz carol pouring from the tree, and she fought a shiver at its fervency - "especially not you. You deserve someone who pays attention to you, who values your intelligence and shares your passions. Someone who will treat you like a treasure.” 

Hermione gaped at him, while he looked back with a guarded expression. When she didn’t respond, he turned back to the fire, muttering, “Who knows, maybe my insults did sink in, since you finally dumped his sorry arse.” He lit his cigar and started puffing on it, blowing obnoxious fumes into the air with each exhalation of cloudy smoke.

She got up and began to pace by the windows, unable to form any sort of rational thoughts surrounding his unexpected speech. The smooth sound of Elvis Presley crooning “Blue Christmas” filled the room. What did he mean “especially not her”? Was he implying _he_ would do those things if given the chance? She immediately laughed that thought away. God, he was an infuriating man. 

He sat puffing on the cigar and sipping on his whiskey, ignoring her agitated pacing, which angered her even more. Her temper snapped, and she stomped over to him, fury in her face. “That is just like you, Malfoy! You say things like that, and I don’t know whether to hate you or thank you!”

He began to say, “Thank me, of course,” but before he could speak further, she spat, “Can you put that thing out? It stinks, and it’s giving me a headache.”

He stubbed the cigar out and cast a quick teeth cleaning charm. “Better?” he asked, looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

She nodded with a scowl and resumed her pacing. After several more turns about the room, she returned to her chair by the fire. Determined to put Malfoy’s confusing words aside and focus on getting out of here tonight, she decided to try a different tack with him. “Malfoy,” - she tried to smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes - “this evening has been… so very nice… but I am _begging_ you to _please_ come help me dismantle the wards so we can get out of here.”

“Granger, I already told you. It’s bad out there. Potter will come get us tomorrow, no need to exhaust ourselves in the cold tonight.” He leaned back into his chair and laced his hands behind his head, his upper arms straining against his shirt sleeves. “It can’t be that bad for you to spend your Christmas Eve listening to the fireplace roar. I promise to hold my tongue and be delightful company for the remainder of the evening.”

“Delightful company…” she laughed dryly. “Malfoy, I don’t know that I would _ever_ use delightful in a sentence describing you. Arrogant, conceited, prattish, disdainful… those fit much better.”

She saw a flash of genuine hurt in his eyes before he quickly covered it back up with his confident mask. “You forgot about smart, cunning, and fit.” 

She barked out a laugh, and rose from her chair, determined to work on the wards herself if he wouldn’t help her. She made it halfway across the room before he started speaking again. 

“Brilliant, strategic, determined, passionate, stubborn, loyal, beautiful…” he trailed off. 

She thought he was enumerating his ‘finer’ qualities as he perceived them until he hit ‘beautiful.’ She stopped and turned around, tilting her head to observe him while he sat by the fire and looked back at her. His eyes were like molten silver in the firelight, and she stared at him, unable to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. His rampage about Ron had already made her wonder… but she was unwilling to make a fool of herself and utter, _‘Are you talking about_ _me_ _?’_

He rose from his chair and approached her, slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Granger, I’m sorry I’ve been such a prat. It’s just… my means of dealing with things when they don’t go my way. Don’t go back out there. You’ll just exhaust yourself and get sick, and you’ll miss your plans tonight anyway.” 

She stamped her foot in frustration. “I wish I knew how to break this spell!”

As he reached her, his eyes glinted in the low light. _Your eyes are like starlight now_ , she thought. Merlin, why did these uninvited ideas keep harassing her?

Malfoy reached out to her. “Come on, I’ll take your hat.” Hesitating, she finally pulled it from her head and handed it to him, her tresses springing into a frizzy mess. She tried to smooth them out, and he chuckled lightly at the halo of curls surrounding her. “Your hair looks swell,” he teased. 

She started to laugh with him, but it died in her throat as he moved in closer to tuck a missed curl down with the rest. “Why thank you,” she breathed, “but I really can’t stay.”

Malfoy was now fully in her personal space, and a zing of electricity hummed between them. Her breaths came out shallow and quick in response to his proximity. He murmured, “Granger, don’t hold out; it’s cold outside.”

She placed a hand on his chest, ostensibly to ward him off. “You’re very pushy you know?”

He grabbed her hand. “I like to think of it as opportunistic.”

Hermione shook her head again, trying to push away the sensation of his hand around hers, his smooth skin and long fingers holding her palm against his warm rounded chest. “I’ve got to get home,” she whispered.

He drew her in ever so slightly, still holding her hand against his chest. “Granger, you’ll freeze out there. It’s up to your knees out there.”

She began a last feeble protest. “If we spend the night together in this cabin, there’s bound to be talk tomorrow; or at least there will be plenty implied - ”

He spoke over her with a smirk, “But think of my life long sorrow, if you caught pneumonia and died.” 

She rolled her eyes and batted him off; he was laying the ridiculous drama on thick tonight. “Malfoy, I really can’t stay.”

He grabbed her other hand and sandwiched both of hers between his own, holding them tight to his chest. “Get over that old ‘out,’ Hermione.” When she held his heated gaze and didn’t pull away, he whispered, “Stay here with me tonight. Let me show you what it’s like to be with a man who will treat you like the gem that you are, appreciate your mind and your body the way you deserve.” 

Unbidden images of his bare skin against hers flooded her mind, daydreams of their bodies tangled together on a blanket by the fire. Mariah Carey softly sang “All I Want for Christmas Is You” in the background--its lyrics an apt accompaniment to her vivid imaginings. 

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers, his pupils blown wide in the dim light of the room, and he inched even closer. His long seductive lashes slowly blinked, and at that moment, she lost her resolve. He saw the moment she capitulated, and he closed the distance between them, tilting his head to press his lips to hers. 

She gasped at the contact. _Gosh, your lips are delicious!_ He let out a low moan as his tongue swiped along the seam of her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. The kiss was slow and gentle, like the snowflakes falling outside; they melted into each other, briefly suspended in space and time in their little protected bubble in the woods.

Too soon they pulled apart. Draco breathed, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. Please don’t go back out there. It’s cold. Stay the night here with me.”

Hermione nodded, then leaned in to capture his lips once more, murmuring, “Baby, you’re right, it’s cold outside.”

FIN

_A/N: Thanks for reading, and please share your favorite versions of Baby, It's Cold Outside in the comments!_

_If you enjoyed this, I have a multi-chapter work in progress called Hopeful for Happiness that I'm updating every other Saturday, come check it out!<https://archiveofourown.org/works/26797072/chapters/65373265> You can also follow my tumblr page for story boards and aesthetics <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/elizcoll1035>. _

_Happy Holidays all! - ElizColl_


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